


invocation

by orchid_spiral



Category: Combat Zone Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, M/M, OK call it an excuse plot basically, Pack Dynamics, Semi-Hate Sex, Vampires, Werewolves, porn with slight plot, werewolf bikers, werewolf/vampire sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10032938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchid_spiral/pseuds/orchid_spiral
Summary: It's nearly full moon. Time to find a distraction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a (rather late) birthday present for a friend of mine, and I can only apologise for its lateness. It rather blossomed from its original incarnation, though the expanded universe is not contained herein. I'll admit, I am somewhat out of practice when it comes to smut, so I but hope the end product is acceptable. Thank you for reading.

The moon dominates the sky, almost mocking in its size: enormous, every crater and mark detailed, glowing yellow-white, almost but not entirely full. It’s enough to make Dean want to put his fist through a brick wall.  
  
One glance around him is enough. His pack (though they’re usually described as his cohorts, accomplices or partners in crime) are evidently just as on edge as he is: Baron’s clenching and unclenching his huge fists and doesn’t seem to realise it, Alexa keeps running her hands through her hair like she wants to pull it out, Corey continually laces his fingers together and pulls on them, and Sami’s glaring up at the moon like he wants to shoot it out of orbit. He can feel their irritation like an ever-present noise, some irritating hum on the edge of hearing, and the overall effect is slowly building up to an explosion.  
  
The gleam seems to mock him as he looks up at the moon, taunting him with its near-fullness. The full moon itself isn’t that bad- he can handle the transformation, handle the moon’s influence. But being constantly on edge, constantly feeling as though he _needs_ to change without the physical sensations to match… it’s enough to drive him insane.  
  
He pulls in a deep breath, trying to distract himself, and winces. Sharpened by the moon’s effect, his already-keen nose is picking up all kinds of things, including some he doesn’t particularly like: from the distance, a tang of saltwater; nearby, some dog shit nobody bothered to pick up; some engine oil in a small puddle below Baron’s bike; roses that someone’s growing fairly close by; exhaust from a speeding car; human sweat from someone running; freshly dried sheets that someone’s carrying; a dead rat in a sewer pipe; cigarette smoke from a butt someone dropped from their car window; leftover chips discarded on a picnic table; masonry dust from a half-built house; the rich tang of blood-  
  
“Boss?”  
  
He blinks and looks up.

“You OK?”  
Alexa looks concerned, but only a little. That’s good. He doesn’t need anyone constantly hovering over his shoulder. It makes him want to bite.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says shortly, brushing her away. “Let’s…” An idea strikes him. “Let’s go for a ride.”  
  
For a second, there’s a guarded emotion on her face, something like suspicion- but then she smiles, and it’s gone, and he’s unsure if it was ever there in the first place. Could have been his imagination. God knows the moon makes him suspicious sometimes.  
  
She nods and starts walking to the other side of the lot, where their bikes are parked: her small, midnight blue bike; Sami’s black and gold bike, much bigger; Baron’s black-on-black bike, Corey’s brilliant green bike, and Dean’s blood-red machine. One quick gesture, and the others are halfway across the lot. In less than a minute, the five of them are out of the lot and on the road.  
  
They ride in formation, in the shape of a diamond: Corey taking the north point, Alexa and Baron the sides, Sami following at the rear, and Dean at the centre, safely protected by his pack. It’s more of a formality, really- he can bite his way through anything that tries to attack him, but his pack seem to feel that it’s their duty to do what they can to keep him safe. And truth be told, he almost likes it.  
  
At first, their course is aimless. They speed past tiny parks and through suburban neighbourhoods, the bikes roaring loud enough to wake the dead as the leaves stir in their wake. They speed over a bridge across a lake, everyone resolutely trying to ignore the moon’s reflection on the gently-lapping waters. They drive down the main street, tires screeching as they turn, and sirens rise behind them.  
  
Under his helmet, Dean smiles. At last: real entertainment.  
  
He makes a gesture, and everyone pulls over. All it takes is a few short seconds of conversation, and they’re off again, though they’re going slower, enough for the small army of cops to think that they have a chance of catching them.  
  
The seconds pass with agonising slowness: the cops creep up behind them, inch by inch, seemingly taking far more time than they should. Dean’s starting to wonder if they’ve ever heard of acceleration when Alexa turns her head toward him and nods once.  
  
As one, the quintet take a sharp left, speeding up. The engine roars beneath him, and Dean’s vision has narrowed to the road, the world blurring together into a meld of buildings and lights. They turn again and again, slowing down, speeding up, leading their trackers on a chase that’s calculated to be frustrating, but just plausible enough that they won’t give up.  
  
The quintet take another sharp turn right, slowing a little, and then just as their pursuers begin to catch up, the formation breaks: Corey turns right, speeding through a large park; Alexa shoots down a narrow alley before anyone can blink; Baron revs the engine and does an abrupt U-turn that takes him past the police before they can react; Sami storms back down a side street. Dean’s left with the road in front of him, and he guns the engine, head down.  
  
As his speed increases, the road blurs beneath him, the high-pitched shrieking of the wind music to his ears. The engine roars, the pulse of the bike moves through him, and for a few blessed seconds, it’s as though he and the bike are one, untamed, untouchable, wild-  
  
-and about to hit a cop car that cruises out from a side street.  
  
He swerves violently, nearly pulling a 180. He has to kick the bike into gear again when he realises that he’s facing the wrong direction, and the time it costs him to turn again nearly lets them catch up with him.  
  
On the plus side, it likely means that one of the others managed to lose their pursuer. On the minus side, he could well be fucked.  
  
Ah, well. Best he can do now is ride or die.  
  
Figuratively speaking, of course.  
  
A third car joins the chase as he speeds onwards, and he makes several twists and turns, but he can’t shake them off. He’s almost starting to worry when-  
  
Ah, fuck.  
  
He’s stopped behind another park, a fairly small one with several broken lights, the ground mostly concealed by the darkness. There’s only two roads: the one he just came down and the one to the right. He’s got a cop car parked across the road to the right, and behind him, another two are pulling in to block him.  
  
He may just have been too smart for his own good.  
  
He’s seriously considering incapacitating the cops and running for it- on all fours if necessary- when another engine roars, close by.  
  
His first thought is that Alexa or Corey disobeyed him and came back to check on him. It wouldn’t be Baron, Baron never disobeys orders unless they’re along the lines of ‘stop hitting him already’. Alexa and Corey are too smart and worry about him too much. They’ve been known to come back to make sure the leader’s OK.  
  
Sami, though… Sami isn’t one for decoys or gestures. Sami’s one for waiting for the cops to arrest him and then breaking their necks. Which is why Dean tries to make sure that Sami doesn’t get a chance to break any more necks. At least, not unless he’s been ordered to.  
  
Before Dean can decide what to do, a bike soars off the roof of a nearby garage and hits the road, somehow managing to not flip, crash or shatter into a thousand pieces. But it’s not Alexa’s bike. As it rolls to a stop under one of the few remaining working lights, Dean sees that it’s mostly a virulent shade of hot pink, accented with black.  
  
He groans. Of course. Of-fucking-course.  
  
The driver of the hot pink bike shouts something unintelligible, and Dean guns the engine, zooming past the cop car to the right. It’s a close call, close enough that some of the paint gets scraped off, but it’s mere seconds before he’s free and down the nearest alley, trying as hard as he can to be quiet. Well, quieter.  
  
Somehow, he’s not surprised when the hot pink bike catches up to him, its rider keeping an even pace as they proceed back to base.  
  
Admittedly, ‘base’ might be pushing it a little. The fire station had no remnants of its former glory left when they found it, and looks from the outside like any abandoned shack. The chain-link fence around the outside is topped with barbed wire, but the lone gate stands open enough for each bike to pass through. It’s not far from the fence to the old garage, and once Dean slams his fist against it a couple of times, the door’s pulled open.  
  
The garage is huge, built to hold several fire trucks and still have room left over. Now, all it holds are two SUVs and the bikes, and it still looks surprisingly empty despite that, the floor gathering dust.  
  
As Dean and the other rider park, Corey emerges from near the doors, a black look on his face, though he doesn’t say anything.  
  
Dean pulls his helmet off. “Get the gates shut and locked and this door shut, ASAP.”  
  
Despite his glare, Corey walks out of the station, and it’s not long before they can hear the gates being locked.  
  
Alexa and Baron emerge from the depths of the station, their expressions becoming equally unamused as they see the second rider. As Corey comes back inside and closes the doors, the rider finally takes his helmet off and looks around dismissively.  
  
“You son of a fucking bitch,” Sami says from behind him.  
  
“Aww, is that any way to talk to a friend, Sami? I mean, I just bailed your boy out of getting arrested, so you should be nicer to me.”  
  
“I don’t give a fuck, Jimmy,” Sami snaps back. “You don’t get to walk in here and act like you own the place.”  
  
Jimmy Jacobs grins, unzipping his jacket to reveal another, rather fluffier jacket over his bare chest. “I’m just saying hello to my friends, Sami.” He smiles innocently, revealing two very long fangs.  
  
“You got arrested?” Alexa asks, ignoring Jimmy.  
  
Dean shakes his head. “Only because he turned up and distracted them.”  
  
“So I think I’ve earned myself a bit of goodwill,” Jimmy replies, still smiling. “Now, I’d like to talk to your alpha, so run along. Good dogs.” He makes a shooing notion with his hands.  
  
Baron lunges, thick black fur covering his face and hands in seconds. Before he can connect with Jimmy, Dean’s fist closes around his throat, squeezing just enough to make him stop.  
  
“Knock it off,” Dean commands.  
  
He and Baron lock eyes for a long moment, and Baron reluctantly steps back, his black glare fixed on Jimmy.  
  
“He’s our guest,” Dean says slowly, looking from face to face, his gaze stern. “We don’t hurt our guests.”  
  
His head turns so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. “Jimmy, if you insult my pack again, I’ll kick your ass myself, you dumb fuck.”  
  
Jimmy raises his hands. “I’ll be good. I promise, Daddy.”  
  
Dean growls.  
  
“I’m sorry, really,” Jimmy says, his tone carrying the slightest trace of insolence.  
  
From their expressions, nobody buys it, but they don’t respond.  
  
“Jimmy and I are gonna have a talk,” Dean says flatly. “So all of you, keep out of my room for a while, understand?”  
  
He gets a series of curt nods in return.  
  
“Good.”  
  
“I still can’t believe you actually live in this shithole,” Jimmy says as they walk through the firehouse. He looks around almost incredulously, noting the lack of decorations or comforts beyond the essentials. Half of the furniture is dented or otherwise damaged, and there’s a thick layer of dog hair over most of the surfaces.  
  
Dean shrugs. “It’s not gonna fall down any time soon, nobody’s gonna come near it and it’s got room for all of us. What’s not to like?”

“See, this is why you need me in your life,” Jimmy says with a sigh. “You need someone with actual style.”

  
“Says the man wearing jeans and no shirt,” Dean responds, though he’s focused more on Jimmy’s bare chest than on insulting him.  
  
“I look amazing, don’t even deny it,” Jimmy says. “So, full moon tomorrow, huh?”  
  
“Don’t remind me,” Dean growls.  
  
“Oh, good,” Jimmy says lightly. “Want a distraction?”  
  
Dean pauses, and opens the door.

His room is even less decorative, somehow: rumpled bed, several piles of dirty clothes, a worn rug, a desk and chair. The window’s open, letting in the night breeze, and Dean inhales deeply.

Jimmy winces fastidiously, but he shuts the door behind him. “About that distraction…”

And with that, he wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and kisses him.  
  
Well, it’s certainly distracting.  
  
Jimmy’s evidently never learned about the beauty of moderation, because he abruptly pushes himself up against Dean, his lips pressing against Dean’s hard enough to bruise. The kiss deepens, Dean’s hands moving down Jimmy’s chest, pausing to tug on the rings through his nipples. Jimmy moans, stilling, and Dean takes advantage of his stillness to pick him up, carrying him over to the bed.  
  
As soon as Dean sits down, Jimmy shifts so he’s sitting in Dean’s lap, hands tugging at his shirt. Dean shoves Jimmy down onto the bed, hands pinning him down effortlessly.  
  
Jimmy quirks an eyebrow. “Mmmm. I love it when you get aggressive, Daddy,” he drawls.  
  
Dean bites back a growl and bites the side of Jimmy’s neck, hard enough to bruise but not to bleed. Jimmy almost whines, fingers clenching, legs going limp, eyes rolling back.  
  
The sight makes Dean growl again, and he pulls Jimmy’s jacket off, tossing it aside. Jimmy moans again, and Dean busies himself with kissing his way down Jimmy’s chest, his tongue working busily, paying special attention to the piercings.  
  
Jimmy’s eyes are nearly closed, breathing fast, letting out little moans that make Dean’s cock twitch. As Dean’s hands reach his belt, he starts talking, his voice barely above a whisper. “You gonna fuck me, Daddy?”  
  
“You want me to?” Dean nearly snarls.  
  
“Yeah, I want you to, Daddy,” Jimmy replies, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Turn me over and fuck me into the mattress. Fuck me so hard I can’t breathe. Pretty please.” He licks his lips, slowly, deliberately, his tongue moving slowly. “Pretty please with a cherry on top. Or better yet, _you_ on top.”  
  
Dean’s expression changes from lustful to wary within a second, and his hands move to Jimmy’s shoulders, holding him down. “Just tell me something first. Did Seth send you here?”  
  
Instead of indignant or astonished, Jimmy manages to look scornful. “Oh, for God’s sake, are you still that paranoid?”  
  
“I don’t fucking trust vampires,” Dean growls, eyes locked on Jimmy’s.  
  
“I know, I know, you don’t trust anyone,” Jimmy says like he’s reciting it. “But really, do you think I just do whatever Seth tells me? Seth can say whatever he wants, I don’t care. I came here myself. Or, rather, I’m going to be coming here myself.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “So what do you want? You always want something.”  
  
In answer, Jimmy reaches up and licks the side of Dean’s throat. “I’m hungry,” he breathes. “And you’re _delicious.”_  
  
“So that’s it,” Dean says. “I knew it.”  
  
“Don’t be like that, Daddy,” Jimmy says, running his tongue over his lips, slowly, deliberately. “You know it’s not like I could kill you. You’re too much for me to handle, even on a good day.”  
  
“So I get to fuck you,” Dean says slowly, drawing it out. “And you get…”  
  
“Dinner,” Jimmy breathes, his pupils so dilated the iris can hardly be seen. “Please?”  
  
“Take it off,” Dean snaps, his voice unsteady.  
  
In answer, Jimmy kisses him again, hands pulling at their remaining clothes. He kicks them off the bed and turns over, his hands visibly trembling, one moving to his cock.  
  
Dean takes deep breath after deep breath, every twitch and moan from Jimmy making him lose concentration as he grabs a condom from next to the bed and pulls it on.  
  
“You ready?” he asks roughly.  
  
Jimmy nods. “Do it. Do it, please, now, just, just-”  
  
Dean thrusts into him and freezes, the sensations coursing through his body making him bite his lip hard enough that he tastes blood. An instant passes, feeling like forever, and in that instant he’s minutely aware of everything, from the way Jimmy’s arms collapsed under him to the tiny bruises on Jimmy’s shoulders where Dean’s hands were. A wave of dizziness hits him, and Jimmy lets out a strangled moan that nearly resembles a scream.  
  
He manages to move a little, and Jimmy starts to whisper something, an endless string of half-formed syllables that Dean ignores. He braces himself, one hand on the bed and the other gripping Jimmy’s shoulder, and thrusts again, hard enough that Jimmy cries out, shuddering.

He draws in deep breath after deep breath, despite the feeling that someone’s doing their best to choke him out, and Jimmy’s desperate moans suddenly make sense: he’s whispering ‘please’ over and over, an endless string of sounds.

Dean smiles.

The hand that was gripping Jimmy’s shoulder slips around and grabs his rock-hard cock, and Jimmy groans just at that. When Dean thrusts into him and starts jerking him off at the same time, Jimmy comes with a sharp sigh, every muscle in his body going limp, leaving him draped over the bed.

Dean doesn’t stop, and from the tiny, involuntary whimpers that come out of Jimmy’s mouth, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Dean’s close, so damn close, but before he can come, Jimmy abruptly pulls away from him and sits up, his eyes black as coal. His movements almost liquid, his arms go around Dean’s neck as Jimmy pulls the condom off and edges closer to him, until he’s almost sitting in Dean’s lap.  
  
It doesn’t take him long- a few swift strokes, and Dean comes. The pleasure rushes to his head, a long sigh coming from his mouth, and Jimmy sinks his fangs into the side of Dean’s throat.  
  
He barely registers the pain, a brief sting that’s quickly replaced with soft, numbing elation, bliss that swamps his senses and fogs his mind, leaving him nothing but ecstasy. He lets go of himself, losing all the feeling in his body, letting everything fade away.  
  
He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he finally comes back to himself. All his irritation, frustration, pent-up aggression has been replaced with a warm, comfortable kind of numbness. As more and more of his senses return, he slowly realises that he and Jimmy are lying on his bed, Jimmy’s tongue running over the puncture wounds, lapping up blood as he holds Dean close to him, close enough that he hears Jimmy's total lack of heartbeat.  
  
It’s an infinitely preferable feeling.  
  



End file.
